


Cracks in the Stone

by ThereIsNoTragedyInThat



Series: The Space Between the First and Last Breath [7]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, M/M, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Needs a Hug, Protective Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26894644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat/pseuds/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat
Summary: Even the strongest of men must break from time to time.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: The Space Between the First and Last Breath [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947598
Comments: 4
Kudos: 134





	Cracks in the Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Hanging

Nicolò ran his hands absently over the rough rope in his hands, fingernails caked with dirt and body soaked through as rain continued to poor steadily over his hunched form. The forest was quiet but for the rustling of the of the leaves and he found himself grateful, painfully, desperately grateful for the isolation.

Above him, swinging as listlessly as he felt, was the other half of the rope. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look up at it, choosing instead to stare at the broken end in his hand, the one that had released him from his agony. Too bad it hadn’t left anything behind to fill the aching void of helplessness in his chest.

He had been here for the better part of the afternoon.

Nicolò had known it was foolish, the epitome of idiocy to believe that this would be the day death would take him, would cradle his soul close and carry it home. Still, it hadn’t stopped him from wandering the forest until he found the perfect tree, until it all became far too much, and he needed it to end…to at very least try.

He lost count of how many times he died after the fifth time he woke, body flailing mid air, rope tight around this throat, lungs burning something desperate and fierce. It was only once it had begun to rain that the threads grew thin enough to snap, having been rubbed bare against the tree branch.

Now, he sat in the mud, back against the tree that he’d chosen to kill himself, drowning in the shame. His God did not approve of suicide but Nicolò had begun to wonder how much worse things could really be if he committed one last sin. Surely, the punishment was nothing compared to what curse he’d already been given.

Tears pricked his eyes.

Nicolò wiped them away angrily, unable to bear the swell of self-pity inside him. Finally, that was enough to leverage him to his feet, the rope sliding from his fingers. He was dirty and drenched, a state of being that would be incredibly difficult to explain to Yusuf once he returned to their home.

The thought made him halt, eyes falling closed.

Yusuf.

It had been nearly ninety years since they first plunged their blades into one another, since they watched the light go out of their eyes and awoke to find themselves in a strange new world. Of that ninety, he and Yusuf had been together, weaved as body and soul for only ten. Yet, the strength of his emotions were as though they’d known each other for a millennia.

Nicolò had not known he could love someone that intensely.

Regret slid into him like a well-placed blade between his ribs, prompting him to turn away from the tree and the rope and the dirt and take his first step back towards the man he loved. He hadn’t wanted to leave Yusuf, to abandon him in the cruelty of the world, but he had grown tired…so very tired.

He liked to think that he’d known he would not die, that he hadn’t strung himself up with the express intent to simply remain until one of the deaths took. Sometimes, pretending was all he had and as he trudged up a forlorn path to their home, Nicolò knew that Yusuf could not learn of this, could not be confided in, not while it was so fresh.

Nicolò would not be able to bear the look of betrayal in his eyes or the too soft words, like he were an animal to be pitied, to be weary of. He wouldn’t fault his lover for it, would unthinkingly do the same if he were the one to find Yusuf in such a state…he simply could not do it.

The door to their tiny cabin swung open before he could reach for it and there was Yusuf, standing in front of him with too wide eyes, blazing with emotion. Their familiar depths ran over his entire form and Nicolò felt like it must be obvious, that his mistake, his sin must redden his hands like the blood of those they kill, written in the lines of his face, lurking in the shadows of his eyes.

But no.

“Nicolò are you alright? What happened?”

Warm, calloused hands gripped his shoulders and tugged him inside. Nicolò could see that Yusuf had already decided he was alright, that whatever happened would be a funny antidote to his day, obvious in the smile threatening the corners of his lips.

“I-” he broke off, a harsh cough moving through his throat and the humor vanished from Yusuf’s face, those hands going from a caress to an insistent hold. “The-”

He could not speak, his voice hoarse with disuse and it seemed that while his body had healed from the crushing pressure of the rope around his throat, it would not do the same for the lack of water.

“Nicolò?” He mimed drinking, winced at the concern in his voice. “Come sit, please.”

Yusuf guided him to a chair before stepping away. Nicolo watched him go for the water and he felt something inside him loosen, a piece of his soul that had been twisted and curled tightly since he awoke that morning.

He took the cup as Yusuf kneeled in front of him, a hand coming up to touch his face, to brush back his hair, as he watched him sip. Nicolò handed it back to him after a long moment, reveling in the sensation of the water clearing his throat.

“Nicolò?” Yusuf took one of his hands. “Speak to me. Tell me what has happened.”

“I’m alright,” the words, to his surprise, came with a conviction, a strength he had not considered himself capable of in that moment. “I’m fine.”

Yusuf looked doubtful so Nicolò summoned a small smile, found it real as he sought to reassure the man he loved so dearly, “Yusuf, truly, I am well…just tired.”

He nodded slowly, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek, “well, my beloved, that is easy enough to remedy.”

Nicolò knew that he did not entirely believe him, could see it in the gentle way he held him, the way he watched him, yet Yusuf did not push for more then he was willing to give. Time, Nicolò, decided, would ease the fears in his heart, the worry that his God had made some horrible mistake. He would do everything in his power, until such a time that he had been forgiven or fulfilled his purpose, to do right by his beliefs, to make well those who suffered, to defend those who could not defend themselves, to love the man in front of him.

It would have to be enough for now.


End file.
